One More Problem
by Crystal Sampson
Summary: A witch hunt gone wonky leaves Sam high with a few unforeseeable side-effects. Dean rolls with it. Set season 2'ish.


**Disclaimer:** Not mine. If you recognize it, I had no hand in making it. I do not own any piece of the Supernatural awesomeness. It all belongs to Kripke et. al. I'm just borrowing for a minute.

"So the Winchester boys have come to destroy me?" She laughed. The old crone's voice was like rocks grinding together. "Pathetic. And here I had hoped to have some fun with you boys."

Dean was trying to pry his arm away from the wall where it was currently pinned tight by the witch's mind mojo. A leg might do too. He just needed something free to attack with.

"Sorry, lady," he said, falling back on his old standby of sarcasm. "You're not my type. I prefer blondes. Young, frisky blonds. It would never work out."

She cackled. "You're a feisty one." She came around her work bench to stand before him. She was so close he could feel her breath on his cheek. She set herself so that she stood directly in front of the fire that was burning in the center of the cave, obscuring her features. One long, cracked fingernail traced down his cheek. "Such courage," she whispered. "I think I'll take your heart." Dean tried not to shudder under her touch.

"Get off me, you evil bitch," he said, jerking his head away.

She stepped back and shrugged. "I had hoped you would be alive to see the effects of my spell, but this is better. You will be just delicious."

She returned to her work, grinding something in an old fashioned mortar. The scent of cinnamon and something floral filled the air and coated his teeth. It made his nose itch. Dean strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of Sam, who was laying off to his left, stunned on the floor where he collapsed after his head had met with stone in a resounding crack that echoed through the cave.

The shadowed bulk of his brother was starting to stir. So maybe it wasn't life threatening, which meant maybe Sam could still wield a knife, given enough time to come round.

Dean struggled harder. "What makes you think I'm going to just let you take my heart?"

She looked up at him over her work and smiled, crooked teeth catching her lip. "I think you'll find it rather difficult to refuse."

Sam was sitting up now. He blinked groggily taking in the scene. In seconds he had analyzed the situation and was reaching for his weapon.

"You underestimate me."

She licked her lips. "Brave and stupid. Mmm. The best kind of meal."

"Meal? I thought you were doing a spell."

"Oh yes. A big one. You see, first I invoke the goddess. A few preparatory ingredients to appease her and make her able to work in me, then I'll offer her a sacrifice." Sam inched closer along the wall. The flicker from the fire cast his face in shadow, but Dean saw the concentration in his movements. The witch nattered on. "As her vessel, I'll consume your heart after it has been purified in the fire." She waved her arm at the small fire pit between them with a grin. "It's almost ready now."

She poured the contents of the mortar over into a nearby bowl. She began to chant. Sam was almost there.

"And what's that supposed to do? Rain of toads? Smite the firstborns? What?" Just one more step.

"If it pleases the goddess, she will choose me as her host and together we will cleanse this world-"

Sam pounced. He spun her around and shoved her across the table using his weight to hold her down. The bowl she had been working from was sent flying to the floor. Its contents upended over the fire and a greasy, dark smoke began to rise from the flames.

Sam raised his arm to drive the knife home, but she twisted out from under him and shoved him to the side, his face just missing the flames as he landed on the ground. Dean found himself free, the witch's concentration finally broken enough that he could pull himself from the wall. He covered his nose and mouth with his t-shirt to fend off the smoke that was quickly filling the space.

When he glanced up, the witch had Sam pinned to the floor, his arm wrenched out awkwardly so that he could not stab her with his knife. Dean yanked the gun from the waist band of his pants, aimed, and fired two quick shots. The witch toppled over dead. Sam lay where he had been pinned, breathing hard and looking slightly dazed.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was thick. He coughed as the witches dress caught fire and began to add yet another variety of smoke to the tiny cave.

Dean ran to Sam, inspecting him for any injuries. Finding none, he hauled his brother to his feet and together they stumbled out the cave and towards the Impala. Dean fought off a wave of dizziness just as the car came into view. They were parked at the edge of a field at the very end of a gravel drive. It was the closest they could get to the cave and Dean was anxious to be back inside his baby.

Sam stumbled. He let his momentum carry him to the ground, nearly hauling Dean with him.

"Sammy?" Dean asked. Now was not the time to be taking breaks. They were almost home and Dean's head was beginning to hurt.

"Just a second. I feel funny."

Dean leaned down. "Funny how," he asked. He looked into Sam's eyes. They seemed to be focusing, but he'd need a flashlight to really check for concussion and they hadn't brought one to the cave.

Sam stared up at him, then grinned. "It's like I'm floating. And I tingle." Then he giggled. Dean's twenty-two year old brother giggled.

Dean stared at his little brother in concern. Maybe he had knocked a few screws loose during that fight. "Sam, how many fingers am I holding up?" He held up his hand, first three fingers extended.

Sam seemed to concentrate for a long moment, then reached out to grab Dean's hand. "It's no fair if you cheat."

"What? How am I cheating, man?"

"Can't count if you won't hold still."

Dean hadn't moved. He eyed Sam, then glanced back over his shoulder at the car. They had a first aid kit in the trunk. He either needed to bring it to Sam or get Sam to the car. He could–

"Three."

Dean started at his brother's voice. "What?"

"Three fingers, Dean." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Right. Good." Dean finally came to a decision. He was too tired to make the trip three times. Nor did he think it would do any good for his headache. Sam would have to go to the car. He didn't seem unduly injured, just out of it. "All right, Sammy. Let's get you up and walking. Time to get you checked out."

Sam grunted as Dean once again tugged him to his feet. They set off across the grass. Dean had to keep a tight grip on Sam's shirt because he wanted to weave and stumble rather than walk. Finally, they made it back to the car. A quick rummage in the trunk and he turned up a smallish flashlight that he could use as a penlight. He had Sam sit sideways on the seat with his legs stretched out of the car while he checked his pupils. To his alarm, they were dilated. They had gone wide open and he noticed Sam flinch and the brightness. They seemed to be the same size and equally as reactive, little thought that was. Sam swatted at the light.

"Stop that. The sparkles are annoying."

Dean huffed. "The sparkles?"

Sam had leaned back and closed his eyes. "Yeah. It's all shimmery." He shuddered. "It makes me want to puke."

"Not in my car, it doesn't." Dean was not cleaning up puke from the front seat.

He tucked the light back into their kit in the trunk and brought Sam a bottle of water. "Drink this, as much as you can, but not too fast," he said as he dropped it across Sam's stomach. Sam grabbed it and twisted the cap off as he sat up. He got two gulps down before he made a face. "This tastes funny."

"It's just water, Sammy."

"Nuh-uh. It takes like…" he smacked his lips. After a moment of consideration, he said, "Like stripper glitter."

What the hell?

"I know." He eyed the bottle skeptically. "It was a sealed bottle." He lapsed into silence as he struggled with the conundrum. Then he smiled. "Maybe whoever bottled the water also works as a stripper and accidentally tipped some in."

"Sure, Sammy." Dean needed to get to the hospital. This was a bit beyond the basic dilute it with water cure they had learned for ingested poisons. Sam had gotten into something really hefty in that cave. Even Dean didn't feel one hundred percent, but he was just tired and a little dizzy.

He glanced at his brother who was drinking happily from his stripper-glitter flavored water. Hospital it was. And if Sam came out of this with no lasting effects, Dean was never going to let him live that one down.

"No hospitals."

Dean blinked. Had he said that out loud? He must really be tired. "You need a hospital, Sam. You are completely out of it."

"But, Dean. They're boring! And the doctors always poke and prod. I'm not going."

Dean grit his teeth. Whiny Sam was also a stubborn Sam. He would like nothing more than to throttle all six feet whatever of his brother, but he had a feeling a little diplomacy was required.

"I'm six-four."

"You're what?"

"I'm six-four. Seriously, dude. It's not that hard to remember."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "I don't recall asking you." In fact, he hadn't said a word about Sam's height. Not to Sam at any rate. Was his brother suddenly telepathic too?

"You said all six feet whatever. I was just reminding you. No reason to get grumpy over it." Sam had turned to stare at his lap, looking as though Dean had just kicked his puppy.

Maybe he had been thinking out loud. "Whatever. Let's just get going so we can get you checked out."

Sam pouted the whole way down the highway, although it was a muted sort of pouting. He refused to speak to Dean, but seemed to be fascinated with the dark fields rushing by. He eyed them with the same wonder he had reserved for his cool older brother when he was in his duckling phase. There was a time when Dean had lived for that adoring wonder, even if it did mean he had a second shadow. Not that he minded. Much.

He snuck another glance at Sammy to find his brother peeking out from under his lashes at him. It was almost like he was five again. Sam had been an adorable, precocious five year old. It had scared John Winchester to death.

"Why?"

Dean jumped. It was the first word Sam had said since they left the field. Maybe this meant he was done being pissy.

Sam scrunched up his face. "I wasn't being pissy. You were being thick."

Dean scowled. "First off princess, you were being pissy. Giving someone the silent treatment is the definition of being pissy."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"That's what I thought," he said. "Why what? What are you talking about?"

"Why was Dad scared when I was little?"

Dean was confused, but had a nagging suspicion that something more than a good acid trip was going on here. "I never said he was. Where did that come from?"

"You were just talking about it. You said that I was precocious and that it scared Dad. Why?"

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but wasn't sure what to say. "Sam, I didn't say any of that." He had been thinking it, but he hadn't said it. Of that he was sure.

Sam sat up straighter. "Yes you did. Just now. A few minutes ago. I heard you."

"No, Sam. I didn't. I didn't say anything."

"Stop playing. If you didn't want to answer the question, you could have just said." He leaned back in a huff, arms crossed and slouching in his seat.

Dean pulled off the road. This was one conversation he could not have while driving. Especially if it meant what he thought it did.

"Sam, look at me."

Sam met his eye, still in a huff. Dean thought as loud as he could within his own skull.

 _Sam Winchester is a princess who wears women's thongs and sleeps with a teddy._

"Really, Dean? You pulled over to tell me that?"

"No. I pulled over to make a point. Watch my lips."

 _Rubber baby buggy bumpers. Rubber bugby baby- dammit._ Even in his mind he couldn't keep the words straight.

Sam's eyes widened. The whites made the dilated pupils stand out.

"You didn't say anything."

"Nope."

"I still heard you."

"Yep."

"You still suck at that tongue twister."

Dean sighed. "Focus Sammy. The important point is that you are reading my thoughts." Which was just freaky in Dean's opinion, but that seemed to be the story of his family.

Sam was starting to panic. "I can read minds now? But how? What if it's permanent? Is this another power? I thought I was only supposed to have the one? Except for that thing with Max –"

Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulder. He was making his usual diarrhea of the mouth look like constipation.

"Sam, stop. It's okay. You're fine."

"But, Dean…"

"I know, man. But psychic powers don't just randomly sprout." The look Sam gave him at that was eloquent.

"That's what I thought about visions too," he said morosely.

And that was a fair point. "Look, something must have happened in the cave. You did crack your head pretty hard. Maybe you knocked something loose." And Dean almost believed it. Except Sam hadn't had a concussion and he's seemed perfectly level headed when he attacked the witch. As far as Dean could remember. Not that they had stopped for a chat or anything.

"I didn't feel all tingly when I woke up, just when we got out of the cave."

Dean nodded. "Plus whatever you got into has flown you high as a kite. Maybe it's just a side-effect of that. It might wear off in a while."

Sam nodded.

"Still, I think you were right. No hospitals. You don't have a filter right now and I doubt I could explain my baby brother reading the doctors' minds. We're going back to the motel to hunker down till this passes."

Sam looked up at him with big solemn eyes. "What if it was poisonous? Am I going to die?"

"You're not going to die." Sheesh. Doped up Sammy was morbid.

"It's not morbid. We don't know what was in that mix."

"You're not going to die. The witch was going to eat it or smoke it or something. You'll be fine." Dean massaged his head. He needed a hot shower and some aspirin. "Let's just get back to the motel and crash. We'll see how you're doing in the morning."

"Okay."

Dean nodded. He started the car and pulled onto the highway. Sam went back to watching the passing scenery and Dean concentrated on not putting them in a ditch. He would blame that for not noticing Sam getting paler by the second as they drove deeper into town. They were staying at the only little motel in the area right on the main drag of the nothing town. By the time they pulled into the parking lot, Sam's skin was the color of mashed potatoes and he had curled into a ball, pushed back against the leather seat as tight as he could go. His pale face was scrunched tight and tucked into his knees.

Dean killed the engine and reached over to his brother.

"Hey, Sammy. What is it? What's wrong?"

Sam shook his head violently into his knees.

"Come on, kiddo. What is it? I can't fix it if you don't talk to me."

Sam shuddered. "Too much," he whispered.

"Too much what?"

"Everything. It's too loud. Too many people. Lights too bright. Make it stop, Dean."

Dean spared one longing glance at the door to their room. There was a hot shower and an almost comfortable bed in there. But Sam came first. He always would.

"Okay. It's okay. I need you to breathe Sam. In and out. Nice and steady."

As Sam took one shuddering breath, then another, Dean nodded. "Good. That's good. I need you to hang here for just a sec. I'm going to grab our stuff and turn in the keys, okay? Then we can leave and not come back."

Sam nodded against his knees. "Just hurry."

Dean jumped out of the car. They had packed up everything into the car that they thought they might need, but had planned to come back for one more night to get cleaned up. Their clothes and more importantly their research were still in the room. He flung the door open and flipped on the light. Sam's duffle sat packed and ready at the foot of the bed. All Dean had to do was throw his toothbrush in and it was good to go. Dean gathered up his stray clothes that had migrated across the room and stuffed them in his own bag. He tore down the articles they had pinned to the wall, jammed them into one of the open police folders on the table, then they too went into his duffle. They would burn them when they got far enough away.

Sparing a last glance, he gathered up both bags and closed the door behind him. He jogged the few feet to the office, relieved to find it empty. He laid the keys on the counter and left. It took him five minutes before he was back in the car and speeding out onto the street.

As they hit the town limits, Sam seemed to relax a bit. Another ten minutes and he stretched out with a sigh. His head fell back to rest on the top of the seat and he pushed his feet as far as he could in the cramped car. Dean drove till he found a likely looking pull off and parked out of sight of the road in a stand of trees.

"Sam? You still with me?"

Sam grunted, but didn't seem to be in the mood for conversation. Dean shrugged and started rummaging in the back for the stash of painkillers they kept there. His head was throbbing now that the emergency seemed to be over.

"Can I have one of those?" Sam's request was quiet, but sounded more lucid than at any point previous.

"Depends. Are you still hearing thoughts?"

Sam frowned, but kept his eyes closed. "I don't know."

 _Sammy likes tutus._

"It's Sam."

"Yeah, sorry princess. You're still tripping. You'll just have to wait it out. I don't want you mixing meds and puking on me."

Sam snorted, but didn't respond. They lapsed back into silence. Dean mentally ticked all the things they still had to do. They would have to check on the witch, make sure she burned properly. Sam might still need a hospital, but they would wait until morning. Maybe Bobby could figure out what herbs had been in that mixture. Or maybe they should call Missouri. She was their resident psychic expert.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was sleepy. Dean had thought he had already drifted off.

"Not yet. You think too much."

"What is it Sam?"

"What if it's permanent? What do we do then?"

Dean sighed. Just one more problem for them to face.

"Sorry."

Dean sat up straighter, looking his brother in the face. "What for?"

"I know I cause all sorts of problems. You would probably be safer without me. Dad would've."

And something caught at Dean's throat. A promise he was trying very hard not to think about. "Don't be stupid. You've saved my ass too many times to count. And Dad was proud of you. If he could have told you that once in a while, maybe the two of you wouldn't have butted heads so often."

Sam gaped at Dean. It was the closest to censure for the man that Dean had ever come in front of his brother. "Don't look at me like that. It took two for those shouting matches, but he really was proud."

Sam smiled at him. "I hope so." He turned serious a moment later. "But seriously. What will we do?"

"I don't know. Why don't we wait until morning and see what happens? If it's still an issue then we'll think of something."

Sam didn't look convinced. He worried his lip between his teeth and looked like he might say something else.

"Who is the big brother here?"

Sam's quiet, "You are" made him smile.

"That's right. I'm the oldest, which means I'm right. And I say it's all going to work out. If it's a new power, we'll deal with it. Have I ever let you down before?"

Sam smiled. "Never."

"Okay then."

They were quiet for another minute before Sam spoke again. "You're taking this remarkably well."

Dean shrugged. "Weird has become par for the course with you, psychic wonder boy."

Dean found himself caught up in a hug. "Thanks, Dean."

"Yeah, yeah. What's a big brother for."

Sam nestled his head against Dean's shoulder. Dean found he should probably mind being used as a pillow, but he was too tired to protest and Sam looked comfortable.

"I can feel you heart beat."

"Dude, you're on the wrong side for that." And it was true, Sam was leaning against his right shoulder.

"No, in your skin. I can feel it pulsing." He fluttered his fingers against Dean's arm to demonstrate. "'S nice." Sam's breathing had evened out to a gentle rhythm and Dean resigned himself to a numb arm come morning. Sam was clingy when he was drugged. It didn't seem to matter what drug. When his defenses were down, he turned into a giant five year old. Even now, Dean knew the kid was attached until the sun came up.

It was nice to have that little piece of his baby brother back. Sometimes it seemed like Sam didn't need him at all anymore.

Sam resettled himself against Dean. "Always need my brother," he muttered.

Dean smiled and settled himself more comfortably in his seat.


End file.
